


Just Once

by DarylDixonGrimes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Choking, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, bang bang - Freeform, belt, bottom!daryl, i shouldn't tag things at 3 a.m., now do the fuck, officer eyefuck, poncho sex, rick is a very very bad boy, the nasty nasty, top!rick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:31:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3180527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarylDixonGrimes/pseuds/DarylDixonGrimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick is a naughtypants and gets busted being one of those. There is sex because there should always be sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Once

Daryl's nest was a sacred place within the confines of the prison. Cordoned off with a black sheet, it was dark and smelled like earth and sweat. His bed was bare save one blanket (no pillow), and a flimsy TV tray held nothing but a few useful objects and a some interesting rocks. Still, it was a place all Daryl's own.  
  
Or mostly his own anyway.  
  
Rick had a bad habit of sneaking in whenever Daryl was gone. He told himself it was curiosity, that he just wanted to be somewhere otherwise forbidden, but really he knew better. He wanted to see who Daryl really was in his own space. He wanted to study him and learn him. And maybe just maybe he could figure out why Daryl had captured his attention and held onto it so tightly.  
  
Over on the TV tray, he noticed a new rock. Shiny and vaguely shaped like a dog. He let his fingers gloss over the surface, imagined Daryl's fingers doing the same. He did the same to all the others and then he sat down on the bed. Daryl's mattress was worse off than his own. Maybe he'd trade them while he was gone. He wondered if Daryl would notice. Most likely.  
  
He bounced a little, testing it more, trying to think of a way to get Daryl on a better bed without admitting he'd been in his cell. Something rattled from within the blankets before falling out and landing on the floor with a metallic thud.  
  
“Shit.” Rick leaned over and picked up the worn leather belt and turned it over in his hands.  
  
“What ya doing in here?” Maggie poked her head in, looking around a little with genuine curiosity, not the all-consuming need to know more Rick seemed to be infected with. He sat up a little straighter.  
  
“Just, uh, getting this belt back that I lent Daryl.” He held it up to show her.  
  
“I thought that was his belt?”  
  
“No,” Rick said, standing up. “Just been a long time since I lent it.” He gripped it in one hand and started toward the curtain. “Didn't wear it out so he must not need it anymore.”  
  
He slipped out past Maggie and headed toward the corridor for his own cell. Great. Now he had to figure out how to get the belt back into Daryl's room without being caught. Best to wait until everyone was asleep to go back.  
  


* * *

  
  
By midnight, Rick had memorized every inch of the belt. Sitting on the edge of his bed with it in his hands, he knew every groove in the leather, every nick, and exactly which notch Daryl wore it on. The buckle was cheap metal, the paint on it chipped and worn. The leather, which Rick suspected was synthetic, was pulling apart. He could almost get a finger between the inner and outer pieces of it.  
  
He thought about Daryl pulling it off and tossing it on his bed. Why? Had they been eating well enough at the prison that he didn't need it anymore?  
  
His mind went back to the first thought. Daryl unbuckling his belt and pulling it off. What he wouldn't give to witness that event. The thought left him hard almost immediately. He gave his jeans a little tug, adjusting them to accommodate.  
  
Thus far he'd avoided doing _that_ while thinking of Daryl,  though he'd wanted to so many times. He could picture his mother lecturing him on the Bible after catching him with his hand in his pants, his yearbook open to a huge picture of Shane in his football uniform.  
  
What would she say now that he allegedly knew right from wrong? Did right and wrong even matter anymore? 

  
He ran his thumb over the leather again. In his head, Daryl worked open the buckle for him a hundred more times. Sometimes he stared at him, going real slow, teasing him by drawing it out. Sometimes he frantically undid it, too hungry for Rick to wait. Rick's cock practically ached. He palmed over the fabric of his jeans a little.  
  
“Stop,” he said quietly. He palmed it again, letting his hand rest gently for a moment. He moved his hips to rub against it, sighed a little.  
  
What was it about Daryl fucking Dixon?  
  
Once. He'd do it just once. Satisfy the undying need and move on. He could live with that. Just once. Only once. Maybe he'd even pray for forgiveness. Like anyone was still fucking listening.  
  
He set the belt down on the bed next to him and worked open his zipper, pushing his jeans down his hips a little. Being free from the confines of his underwear was a relief in itself.  
  
He spit in his hand and wrapped it around the shaft, stroking the entire length once. He could see Daryl slipping his poncho off. God if he could cum into that poncho, that would be the perfect ending to this. A few more long strokes at that thought, squeezing a little tighter near the tip. Milking it for satisfaction.  
  
He laid back onto the mattress and shifted until he was on his back, head on the pillow. The belt dug into his ass and he pulled it out from under him, grunting quietly at the effort. The belt. He held it up and examined it in pale light of the tiny candle on his makeshift nightstand.  
  
A thought struck him. He shivered, goosebumps invading his arms. He considered it, turning the belt over in his hands again, like it held some new secret for him.  
  
If Daryl ever found out, he'd probably kick his ass from here to Atlanta and back again.  
  
Daryl.  
  
Rick took a few shaky breaths, slipping the leather around his neck and through the buckle. He pulled it until it was tight around his throat, took the end of it with his left hand, and wrapped his right back around his cock. He worked his cock up and down, imagining the way Daryl's arms flexed when he pulled his bow. That thing he did when he chewed on the inside of his lip. He sighed as loud as he'd let himself, yanking the leather tighter.  
  
“Fuck,” he whispered. But it came out more like “Fu-u-uck.”  
  
Daryl dismounting his bike. The way those few little pieces of Daryl's hair always caught the wind. Daryl Daryl Daryl.  
  
“Daryl.”  
  
He pulled the belt tighter until he could feel the blood pooling in his face. His shirt rustled with the pumping of his hand, the friction of his sleeve rubbing against the rest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. He stroked a few more times before it registered. And froze.  
  
Rick turned his head slowly, begging any available deity to let the movement be a figment of his imagination. But no. Daryl stared at him from just outside the circle of candlelight, poncho still draped across his massive shoulders, crossbow leaned against the wall by the curtain. Like a deer in headlights, Rick couldn't move. He was suspended there with one hand on his cock and one hand on Daryl's belt. How long? How much had he heard? Seen?  
  
“Daryl...”  
  
Daryl took a step out of the shadows, eyes dark.  
  
“Don't stop.”  
  
Rick glanced at his cock and back at Daryl. He couldn't have heard that right.  
  
“I can explain.” Rick finally let his hand drop away. He loosened the belt.  
  
“Explanation's pretty damn obvious, Rick.” Daryl chewed on his lip. “That's my belt.”  
  
“I know.” Rick reached for the blankets, but he must have kicked them off the bed. He willed his cock to go down.  
  
“Heard you say my name.”  
  
“I... did I?” He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to tug his shirt tails down. Daryl fidgeted.  
  
“I told you not to stop.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Daryl tried to discreetly nudge his own bulge with his hand. Rick felt his cheeks flush.  
  
“Please, Rick,” he said.  
  
Rick stared at him for a moment. So much for the once and done idea. If Daryl wanted this too, there would be no going back.  
  
Rick slowly extended his hand.  
  
“Spit.”  
  
Daryl's mouth twitched and then he spit into Rick's palm. Rick reached down and worked it around his shaft, trying not to think too hard about where it came from. He'd be done in seconds if he did that. His chest hitched a little with the first new sigh, and he looked over at Daryl, standing there with his arms folded loosely across his chest.  
  
“Unzip them,” Rick said quietly. Daryl glanced down at his own crotch. Rick nodded. “You've seen mine. Only fair.”  
  
Daryl undid his belt. So he'd found a new one. That explained why he'd left this one behind. Rick watched him pull it from the loops, waiting for him to drop it on the floor. Instead, he tugged it around his own neck. Rick remembered where he'd found the other belt, and suddenly the room felt a full ten degrees warmer. The hunter pushed his pants down, not even bothering with the zipper. There were no underwear. Rick's eyes widened.  
  
“Jesus,” Rick mumbled. How the hell did he let that thing swing free? It was average length but bulging with thickness. Rick had to practically tear his eyes away from it to look back up at Daryl. The hunter's mouth twitched. He held his palm out toward him.  
  
Rick filled it with a wad of saliva and watched Daryl wrap it around the sizable girth of his penis. The hunter's head fell back a moment and then he brought it forward again, his eyes fixed on Rick. His left hand took hold of the belt strap. Rick grabbed his own.  
  
Soon there was a fury of rubbing and barely audible grunting as they watched each other. Daryl looped the leather around his hand and pulled tighter, face screwing up in pleasure. Rick scooted over on the bed to make room for him, and Daryl laid down next to him, hand still on his cock. He turned his head and locked eyes with Rick, the two of them practically nose to nose.  
  
Like some unspoken agreement happened between them, they both traded the positions of their hands, grabbing each others' belts. Rick tugged, practically pulling Daryl's mouth to his. More stroking. Choking each other. Stroking. Choking. Daryl moaned into his mouth as they half-ass kissed each other, too distracted by everything else do to much more.  
  
But Rick needed more. So much more.  
  
He let go of the belt around Daryl's neck and pulled out of the kiss before shoving a finger into Daryl's mouth. Daryl startled for a moment but closed his lips around it quickly, running them up and down the length, coating Rick's finger in saliva. Rick forced himself to stop touching himself or he wouldn't have anything left for what he wanted to do.  
  
He worked his jeans down until he could kick them off. Daryl must have noticed and realized the endgame, because he quickly followed suit. Rick crawled between his legs, pressing his wet finger against the hunter's entrance.  
  
He looked at Daryl's face, searching for any apprehension.  
  
“Do it.”  
  
Rick slowly worked it in. Daryl squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.  
  
“You know what you're doing?” he asked, shifting a little.  
  
“Mhm.”  
  
A few minutes and tons of spit later, Rick slid his cock into Daryl's ass. He had to stifle the moan that threatened to escape from deep within his chest, as everything became tightness and heat and Daryl.  
  
“Fuck.” He pulled out slowly and re-entered him. Daryl huffed in a good way.  
  
“Ain't gonna be long.”  
  
Rick shook his head, agreeing. He had already been too close before this. But he needed to do this. Just in case he never had the opportunity again. He pushed in deep. He pulled out. He pushed in again.  
  
Daryl balled part of the poncho up and shoved it in his mouth, growling something around the fabric that sounded vaguely like “harder.” He clutched for the belt around Rick's neck and found it, spitting out the poncho and pulling him down into another kiss. Mouths and tongues and Rick thrusting into him over and over, harder and harder.  
  
“Rick...” Daryl's eyes rolled a little, eyelids fluttering.  
  
“Do it.” Rick grabbed the end of the belt around Daryl's neck and tugged it to the side, pulling it tight around his throat.  
  
“Shit.” Daryl trembled, one hand tangling in Rick's wavy hair, the other clutching at the fabric of his shirt. Rick covered his lips with his own, and Daryl growled into his mouth, body twitching as he emptied between them, all over Rick's shirt and his own and the poncho.  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
Rick thrust a couple more times until he too was right on the precipice, and then he pulled out, stroking his cock and clutching for the poncho. He buried his cock in the material, stroking furiously.  
  
“Gonna cum in my poncho, asshole?”  
  
The way he said it sent Rick barreling over the edge, spilling into the folds of the fabric, practically fucking it as he did.  
  
“Jesus,” Rick sighed. He waited to stop shaking and then he laid himself back beside Daryl.  
  
“I'll wash it,” he said, quietly laughing.  
  
“You had damn well better,” Daryl said, slipping it over his head and setting it beside the bed.  
  
Rick loosened the belt from around his neck and held it out.  
  
“Guess this is yours.”  
  
“Looks better on you,” Daryl said.  
  
“I found it in your bed.”  
  
“I remember where I left it, Rick.”  
  
“Why was it there?” Rick asked, gently walking his fingers up and down Daryl's arm.  
  
“Why were you? And don't think I don't know it ain't the first time someone's been in there.”  
  
Rick held his hands up in mock defeat.  
  
“Alright, alright.”

Daryl sat up, reaching for his pants which were half-hanging on at the end of the mattress. He tugged them on, raising his hips to pull them all the way up. Rick caught a glimpse of his hip bones with the movement. The monster he'd just put to bed threatened to wake up again. Sure, Rick, just once.  
  
“Thanks for not kicking my ass.”  
  
“Yeah, well don't tell anybody. Only one allowed in there's you.”  
  
“Really now?”  
  
“Only if you're naked.” Daryl leaned over and gave him a quick kiss and stood up, picking up his boots.  
  
“Noted.”  
  
“Oh, and Rick...”  
  
Rick leaned back on the mattress, cradling his head with his arm.  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Might want to throw your shirt into that laundry. Looks like I made a mess of it. Night.” Daryl pulled the belt up over his head and clutched it with his shoes, and then he picked up his bow and disappeared through the curtain.  
  
“Goodnight, Daryl,” Rick muttered, much too late. “See you soon.”


End file.
